


I Surrender

by SambliongPalpatine



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: A bit OC, M/M, Spoilers (?), au-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SambliongPalpatine/pseuds/SambliongPalpatine
Summary: "Mi arrendp,"
Relationships: Luca Changretta/Tommy Shelby
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	I Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa, I can’t believe I’d forgotten about this! 
> 
> My roomie was helping me go through some old files and voilà, there this was. So after rereading and editing I decided to publish it. 
> 
> I love PB and I think the acting is sublime. 
> 
> It’s slightly au-ish cause I hint this two met before the show... anyway, I hope you can still enjoy and also forgive if my rumani is wrong, I had to venture into the google translate :p  
> My italian is rusty so please feel free tp correct it.   
> I hope you all are keeping safe. We’ll get through this, you’ll see.  
> In the meantime, have a read.

I Surrender

Tommy is tired. Bone-weary, soul-crushing and marrow-deep tired. 

Nothing can fill the void he has deep in his core, the chiasm just kept growing until not even gin can help him see the other edge. 

There are, or were in some cases, maybe four people that can make him actually feel something, reduce the the distance between his internal abyss. 

The first is Polly; the woman that’s been like his mother and has pulled him out of the abyss countless times, a woman he trusts with his life, not that he’d tell her that. Not that he’d need to, he is sure she knows. 

Then there is Charlie, his son. The purest thing he’s ever made. Something he had made with love, actually loving the woman he had made him with. 

The third is... was, obviously Grace. The woman that gave him back a piece of himself he’d thought lost. A woman who hadn’t been afraid to love him and be loved by him in return. 

And the fourth. He doesn’t want to talk about it. I mean, he is trying to kill them for fuck’s sake. 

They had killed Grace. Tommy had killed their father. And then there had been other dead and hurt and grief. 

So Tommy had buried the... the love he’d felt thus making the void inside him bigger. 

He is sometimes scared that at one point he’s not going to be able to swim to the other side. 

Tommy rolls an unlit cigarette with his lips absentmindedly while he looks at the storm raging outside the window. He has always enjoyed storms. The beauty he’s loved is like a storm; wild, untamable and true. 

It is late, the other inhabitants have been asleep for hours now but Tommy can’t sleep. He knows he needs to, he knows he should but he can’t. His head won’t let him. 

Therefore he doesn’t notice the creaking of the floorboards outside his office not the soft click of the door as it closes nor the unsure footsteps coming closer. 

Oddly what alerts him to the intruder’s presence is the smell. A strange mixture of fresh grass, lemon and a tinge of wine. 

"I wasn’t under the impression I’d given you a key," he says without turning around. 

"You didn’t," comes the accented response. "I happen to know how to unlatch a lock," there is the trace of smugness characteristic of the italian. 

Tommy smiles faintly. "I never thought you were the kind of man to sneak into your enemies’ houses to shoot them in the dark," he says with his own tinge of amusement, eyes still on the storm. 

The other chuckles softly. "Only for those who prove hard to kill in the light of day," the man says between jesting and seriousness. 

Tommy huffs a laugh. "You haven’t seen me sneak into yours now, have you?"

"No," is the simple answer. 

Tommy sighs. "What do you want then?" he asks blankly, finally turning around to look at the other man. 

The sorrowful sadness and loneliness he sees mirrored back at him is like an iron slap in the face. This isn’t something he’d ever have expected to come from this man. 

The man sighs, as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Mi dispiace caro-" he cuts himself and shakes his head probably trying to reset it. "I think we have both been alone for so long, Mr. Shelby and maybe we can put an end to it," the man says in a low voice, somehow making his accent more evident. 

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "And do tell, what makes you think I would like that?" he asks coldly. 

The slight bob of his Adam’s apple is the only indication of the man’s unease. There is a glimmer of something in his eyes and his voice shakes a little when he speaks next. "Because who else could erase our loneliness, Tommy Shelby, but each other?" he says, staring Tommy right in the eyes. 

Tommy feels in equal measures the need to shoot him and kiss him. He does neither, though. “I had stop being alone. But then you brought it back into my life when you killed my wife," he says without trace of the anger or hate he thought he’d have when speaking those words. 

"Non l’ho fatto- I didn’t kill your wife," whispers the Italian. 

"And I didn’t kill your father. So what are we doing here again?" Tommy replies exasperated. 

The italian doesn’t answer immediately, he approaches Tommy slowly and unthreateningly coming to stop just mere feet from him. "A Vendetta," he mutters "that neither of us can win. Will win because then what would we have left?" he quietly says. 

Tommy is oh so tired. He is tired of everything and this fucking man is still beautiful and he is here, offering him a way to the other side and Tommy just... he is so tired and he wants to surrender. 

"A truce for tonight, then?" the Peaky Blinder asks. 

The other man closes the distance between them a little more, leaving a few inches still. "Non, not for tonight," the ‘for the next and the next’ goes implicit. 

They stare into each other’s souls,unmoving, for a small eternity. Time stops as they look into the other’s eyes and for an infinitesimal moment it is as if they are the same person. 

For a moment longer, Tommy remains still; he has a calculating look on his face, suspicion floating inside his mind because there is always the big possibility that it is a trap. 

But in the man’s hazel eyes there is no trace of deceit. In them just shines the truth. 

He takes the few inches between them away but still doesn’t touch the other man further. "If you think that you can use this-"

Long fingers caress his cheek, interrupting his sentence. "Sh, We did say we would fight this with honor, didn’t we?” the other man says. an incipient smile on his lips. 

"Hmm." Tommy hums and closes the gap between their lips with a kiss. 

The man kisses back eagerly; the hand already on his cheek moves to the back of his neck and into his hair, twirling strands between his fingers and sighing contently. 

Tommy wraps an arm around the italian’s waist. "We’ll take this to my room. If you wake Charly or Finn I’ll throw you out the window, understood?" he says seriously, lips a breath away from the other’s. 

The smile finally blooms on the man’s face. "Si caro," he whispers. 

Tommy guides him up stairwells and through corridors with a firm hand on the small of his back. They don’t talk, they don’t remove clothes, they don’t even kiss. They just quietly follow each other through the darkened house; trusting one another, trusting they wouldn’t be betrayed by their lifeline. 

When the door to Tommy’s room is locked behind them neither seem to know how to proceed. 

So Tommy toes his shoes off and hangs his jacket from the back of a chair thus staying only on trousers and shirt. 

The man still stood in the middle of the room; he looks unsure and there’s an ancient sadness in his hazel eyes that Tommy knows is mirrored back by his own eyes. 

"Mi arrendo," he whispers. 

Tommy’s knowledge of italian is near nil so he unfortunately doesn’t understand the words, however he does understand the emotion behind them. He walks closer to the other man, who by now has toed his shoes off, and grabbing him by the waist he pulls him close. 

"Alright then," he whispers back before kissing the man. 

They kiss hungrily albeit slowly, it is apparent that this isn’t just sex. They wanted this for more than the sexual gratification. Both have been wanting this for a long time. 

Tommy pushes the other’s jacket off and smirks when the man accurately throws it into a chair. 

"I thought you’d be more careful with your nice clothes," he mocks. 

The man chuckles lowly. "This are special circumstances," he drawls. 

Tommy snorts. "Wouldn’t have pegged you for a sentimental," he mutters. 

The other man doesn’t say anything, he just smiles and starts unbuttoning his shirt; Tommy’s breath hitches when he sees the newly uncovering ink on the man’s toned body. Before the image can incapacitate him though he copies the man and takes his shirt off. This time he doesn’t care about simply discarding it somewhere on the floor. His partner does the same, not even looking to where it lands. 

"Mi arrendo," the italian repeats quietly. 

They are now naked from the waist up, standing in front of the bed, staring at each other. Tommy feels something give way inside him and he places a hand on the man’s arm. 

"Alright then," he says again and proceeds to pushing the taller man onto the mattress. The man’s eyes widen in surprise, not having at all expected that move. Tommy just smirks as he climbs atop of him. 

He kneels between the man’s sprawl legs to unbuckle the belt and unbutton and unzip the trousers just to rip them down and of off his body, this being followed by his underwear. 

Tommy hoovers over his partner. He stares down at the sharp angles of his face, his shiny hazel eyes, his lips... sunteti frumoasa," he says solemly, not really noticing he’s spoken in romani. 

The man-whose name Tommy still refuses to acknowledge- shakes his head in denial. It’s always baffled Tommy how for all the arrogant confidence the man boosts, he is so insecure when it comes to this. His confidence has never come from his physical appearance but from his skill and wits and the pretense that dressing well and knowing how to conduct himself gives him. Though in Tommy’s opinion the man could do without the disgusting habit of chewing matchsticks. 

Tommy caresses the man’s cheek fleetingly, remembering the first time they met. 

It was right after Tommy had come back from the war, a shody bar in London, one too many whiskeys and one incredible bad choice that had lasted for 6 months. 

When it ended, Tommy buried the memories in the deepest recesses of his mind, thinking he would forget them. But the echoes of the feelings remained. 

"Mi sei mancata," his partner mumbles. 

Tommy kisses him hard while trying to get rid of his trousers. The other man helps him to push them down with a chuckle. Now that they are both naked they stop for a moment to just admire each other. 

For some unknown reason, Tommy’s always been fascinated by the ma- by Luca’s tattoos. That hasn’t changed. Just now that he allows himself to look he notices the italian isn’t wearing his rings. 

He raises an eyebrow at the man’s ringless hand to which the other just shrugs. "I don’t need them here," he says. 

Tomny hums in response but says nothing otherwise. He leans in and starts to bite and lick down the man’s neck, leaving red marks on his slightly tanned skin. He stops on the Cross tattoo and kisses it instead which makes the man shiver underneath him. 

Tommy rumbles a laugh but doesn’t take his lips away from his task. 

"Caro," the man breaths in pleasure. His hand tugs at the strands of Tommy’s hair and he can’t stop the moan this elicits. 

One of Tommy’s hands snakes down the man’s body until he finds what he was looking for. The man moans loudly, Tommy smirks and relaxes his grip. "Ah-ah, ai’d still throw you out the window... Luca," he finally rasps out the cursedly beloved name. 

Luca laughs in delight. "For a moment I thought you had forgotten my name," he jests. 

"Maybe I just needed a reminder," Tommy mumbles, resuming his exploration of the pliant body beneath him. 

He licks and bites and kisses down a path to Luca’s chest where he finds the little nubs already perking up. He diligently works each of them until they are nearly exploding and the man is reduced to a mess of curses in italian.

"I have always loved it when you curse in italian. ‘Fuck’ can only do so much," he smirks as he continues his journey down. 

Luca chuckles breathlessly. "I still have some especial ones reserved for later," he pants, accent thicker. 

Tommy shivers involuntarily. There is something about the way the accent sounds in this man’s voice that always, always, makes Tommy weak in the knees. He though, still remembers his own tricks to make the other feel the same. 

He lays down between the man’s legs and blows on his cock before slowly starting to lick up from his balls to the head with the very tip of his tongue. 

"T- Tommy, caro-" the man moans, music to Tommy’s ears. "Per fevere-" he pleads. 

Normally he wouldn’t listen and go on teasing until he was satisfied but tonight Tommy is feeling merciful so he complies and takes him into his mouth. He hasn’t done this in a while so he’s thankful that his body didn’t forget. He sucks lazily, teasing the head with barely-there licks before going down again. 

He hums around the member in his mouth, self-satisfyed with the reactions he’s coaxing from the man. 

Luca is trembling with the effort of trying to keep it low, moaning softly and panting heavily. "Si, cosi, cosi," he praises, voice shaky. "Tommy-"

Tommy stops, he could feel the other was about to finish but Tommy isn’t done yet. Not by a mile. 

"Non fermarti," the other whines and that’s how Tommy knows the meaning of the words. 

"Rābdare," he warns, caressing Luca’s thigh. "Or I won’t continue." 

Luca places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and brings him closer to himself in a seemingly non-threatening manner. "If you think that is a possibility then you don’t know me," he says seriously. 

Tommy stares down at the only man who has made him feel like this; the man that makes him want to either punch him, shoot him or kiss him. They have hurt each other nearly beyond repair and yet-

They are here. Maybe Luca is right; who else to vanquish their loneliness but each other?

"Verra la morte è avrà i tuoi occhi," the other man whispers reverently, caressing Tommy’s face. 

Tommy’s bruised heart gives a valiant lurch behind his ribcage; he knows those words, this man had spoken them once again in a moment not dissimilar to this one. 

"You and your italian poetry," he mumbles. 

Luca’s eyes sparkle and gives a small smile, Tommy scoffs and leans to the side to retrieve a vial of oil. 

He kneels again between the man’s legs and surveys him for a moment; his elegant and slender body, his heaving chest, his tattoos, the open and trusting expression on his face... and Tommy finds himself willing to fall again. 

"Mi arrendo," Luca whispers for the third time that night. 

Finally Tommy understands the deeper meaning of those words. He understands that the man wasn’t just talking about the Vendetta when he first spoke this words, he was talking about himself in every sense of the word and Tommy feels himself breaking. 

With a nudge of the knee the italian brings Tommy back into gear. He uncorks the vial and lathers his fingers with the amber liquid before gently circling the man’s entrance. 

"Alright then," he whispers back. 

Luca’s breath hitches when the first finger is introduced, he closes his eyes and abandons himself to the pleasure Tommy is giving him. Tommy’s fingers stretched him carefully but still with drive. Luca moans and bits his lip to keep the sounds in though it’s obvious he is struggling more and more. 

"S-stop. Sono pronto," the man breathes out. 

Tommy understands because the translation comes from the man’s body tightening. He pulls his fingers out and prepares himself with more oil before painstakingly slowly penetrating the other man. 

They both groan with the sensations exploding inside and outside of them; the sensation of fullness, of rightness. The sensation of being surrounded by warmth, of being welcomed home after a prolonged absence. 

For a moment it’s all too much and Tommy has to pause and regroup. He doesn’t normally take his time like this, even if he does make sure his partners are comfortable and unharmed, he just fucks them. This, however, does not qualify as ‘fucking.’ It does not feel like ‘fucking.’ 

For some mysterious reason he wouldn’t want it to. 

"Caro," it’s whispered into his ear and serves to center him again. 

He shakes his mental cobwebs away and looks down at the flushed face of his lo- partner. “Sunteti frumoasā," he repeats regardless the reaction it’ll get him.

"Sta ‘zitto." Luca scowls and wraps his long legs around Tommy’s waist to prompt him to move. "Move," he commands. 

Tommy chuckles once but complies. He starts with languid thrusts of his hips, his belly making the barest contact with Luca’s engorged member and providing it with the minimum stimuli to feel good and nothing else. 

A particularly hard push from one of Luca’s heels conveys his feelings on the matter and so Tommy starts increasing the rhythm and changes his aim to hit that spot inside a man that makes him see stars. 

Sure enough with the first nudge of his prostate the other man starts singing the italian curses he’d promised. He wraps his arms around Tommy’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss. They kiss each other with abandon, as if there was nothing else but this. There is nothing else but this. 

They’ve surrendered one to the other and there’s no taking it back now. They belong to one another now, probably have since the beginning but hadn’t realized it. 

Tommy feels himself closer to the edge so he grabs Luca’s cock to pump it with the rhythm of his thrusts and bring him tumbling with himself. Luca moans his pleasure against Tommy’s mouth so he can swallow the sound and have Luca swallow his in turn. 

They fall together. Time stops, they are suspended in time, staring into each other’s eyes and their names in their lips. This feels so- different though good. 

Tommy collapses on top of him, panting and sweating and- tired. But a different kind of tired than his usual. 

Luca plays with some of Tommy’s hair as the shorter man regains his bearings. The elegant fingers of his other hand caresses Tommy’s back. 

After an eternity of peaceful silence, Tommy rolls off him to rest on his side and give him a twinkling look. "So," he starts innocently, "what would your mother have to say about this?" he smirks. 

Luca huffs and rolls onto his side as well. "Nothing," he says with a little frown. "Why would she have anything to say ?” he inquires. 

Tommy shrugs one-shouldered. “She’s always got something to say," he says teasingly. "And you seem to listen to her."

Luca sighs. "My mother likes to pretend she is involved in things," he admits quietly. "And I always pretend I listen."

Tommy traces his cross tattoo almost absentmindedly. "Huh, that’s- very son-like of you," he mumbles. 

Luca smiles faintly. "She’s my mother, I want to give her peace," he says softly. 

Tommy stares at him, realizing there are still many layers he doesn’t know about the man. "One could almost call you sweet,” he says knowing there is nothing ‘sweet’ about Luca Changretta. 

The man lets out one of his little amused laughs. "Almost," he rolls the word as if he’s just learnt it. "I ask you now, what would your family have to say about this?" he quirks an eyebrow. 

"They’ll probably try to shoot me," he answers and thing is, he isn’t joking. 

"Probably not. Rumor has it you aren’t exactly adverse to fix a problem with your cock," the italian teases. 

Tommy’s lips twist up. "Oh sweetheart, you have no idea,” he says sarcastically. 

Suddenly there is a vulnerability in Luca’s eyes that Tommy hasn’t seen before and when he next speaks, there is an odd quality to his voice that makes his accent sound softer. "Would you be able to forgive me?"

“No." Tommy replies truthfully. "Could you?" he asks in turn. 

"No," the man answers just as truthful. "Ma, I can move forward," he adds. "If you can, too. “

Tommy thinks about it. Could he move on? Moreover, does he want to? Luca Changretta would be a powerful ally, yes. But- could he accept him like this? 

The answer comes scarily fast. 

"Yes," he replies, without a doubt in his mind. 

Luca smiles an honest to god smile and in a surprising move, the man scoots closer to rest his head on Tommy’s shoulder. "Buona," he states. 

"Bun." Tommy nods, wrapping an arm around his... something with a small private smile. 

"Are you going to throw me out the window or can I sleep?" Luca rumbles. 

Tommy rolls his eyes. "You can sleep," he grumbles. 

A gentle kiss is pressed underneath his chin before he feels the man’s breathing slow with sleep. 

Tommy lays awake for a few minutes, carding fingers through Luca’s dark hair, pondering. But doesn’t matter how much he searches, he finds no trace of regret. 

"Mā predau," he whispers against the other’s hair. 

For the first time in what seems like ages, Tommy finally sleeps. 

Bonus

“Thomas fucking Shelby, would you care to explain to me what the hell is Luca fucking Changretta doing half-naked in the kitchen?!" Ada yells from downstairs. 

Tommy groans and wishes he’d thrown the stupid italian out the window.


End file.
